


Clandestine Meeting with a Werewolf

by Luthienberen



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [19]
Category: The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Jealousy, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: An old army friend of Watson’s requests a meeting, but demands Watson not tell Holmes. Why? Watson is determined to find out.





	Clandestine Meeting with a Werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July writing prompts. Prompt No. 23 Werewolves. Watson knows that werewolves do not exist. Something forces a re-evaluation of that stance.

The club was noisy as the various patrons, (all men of course), chattered in their groups; either around billiard tables or small tables where they could have a conversation while playing cards.

Sensing that his friend wished for a private locale for their tête-à-tête, Watson led Colonel Henry Small to one of the private rooms set further back.

“Here we go old chap, nice and cosy.”

Watson blushed at the suggestive nature of his statement and rushed on to hide any unfounded suspicion.

“Your missive was most vague and unsettling Small. I am of course happy to help in any way my old comrade from the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, but is there something specific you wished to confide in with me?”

Small smiled tiredly and he dropped the bag he had been carrying by the door. He was a tall man – close to Holmes’ height, but broader in the shoulder and chest. His eyes were a pale brown and he normally had darker tan to his skin from long hours in the sun in India.

He had only been a member of Watson’s club for five months. He had remained in service for much longer than Watson, carving a career out of his time in the military.

Yet, they had kept in touch sporadically over the years and his return to the shores of England after many years’ service aboard in various countries, and subsequent reunion during a meeting of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers had reignited a tentative friendship.

Holmes had been a bit miffed at Watson spending so much time with Small, so Watson, anxious to not further alienate Holmes had done his best to balance his time between both men.

He had been particularly eager not to upset Holmes after their stand-off concerning Holmes’ deception to the Imperial Russian Ballet. As such he was attempting to be as accommodating and accepting in his behaviour to make up for his frankly absurd manner.

Holmes had been casting perplexed yet rather hopeful glances his way so Watson had cheered with the knowledge his efforts were having an effect.

So, when Small had written his missive, calling for Watson’s aid and pleading secrecy Watson had felt better able to respond without irritating Holmes overmuch.

Small sank into the couch that furnished the small room. Watson sat next to him and examined his friend openly. His old comrade grinned at his scrutiny, allowing him to do so without comment.

Watson felt his worry increase as he absorbed how changed his friend was and guilt pierced his breast.

He recalled that two months ago he had departed on holiday to France and returned two weeks later looking harried and haunted. Since then he had become restrained and agitated and would occasionally grimace as if he was in pain.

At the time Watson had just returned with Holmes from their bewildering case of the non-Loch Less Monster, so while concerned for his old army friend, his attention had been mostly on Holmes’ odd behaviour.

After ascertaining he hadn’t been in love with the female spy, simply admired her intelligence and skill, Watson had relaxed knowing that Holmes’ melancholy would pass.

Now Watson wished he had paid greater attention to Small so he said softly, “Oh Small, you are suffering under some great strain. I apologise for not paying heed sooner. It is no excuse, but I have been busy with Holmes.”

His friend frowned at the mention of the detective.

“You haven’t informed Mr Holmes of our meeting?”

“Good gracious no. I kept our meeting secret as requested and it wasn’t too difficult. I do attend my club regularly on a Monday night.”

Watson hesitated then ploughed on. “It is better for me to be quiet in this matter. Holmes is…not too fond of you I am afraid Small. Nothing serious, just…”

“He dislikes sharing?”

“No! That is, we had an argument recently so I have been attempting to smooth over troubled waters and-”

_Damn, he sounded like a husband with a wronged wife._

Colonel Small however was amused. “In that case, Mr Holmes won’t care for us meeting, but shan’t interrupt as long as you return at your normal hour?”

“Well, yes, but he doesn’t know about our meeting.”

Small shrugged, “Perhaps,” was all he said then lapsed into brooding silence.

Watson tried being patient, but he was a doctor and found it impossible to be still.

“May I examine you?”

Small’s brown eyes seemed to go darker with menace and Watson felt unease creep down his spine.

“You may, but I can tell you what ails me. Yet first I must implore from you, a total secrecy as to what passes between us here. My…affliction…is not for the Club or public to know. It must be kept silent. Yes, even from Mr Holmes, for it is only a matter for a soldier of the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers!”

The last was announced in such an empathetic manner Watson leaned back in shock. To lie to Holmes did not sit well with Watson and long moments passed ere Watson succeeded in moving past his displeasure at this request.

Alas, Colonel Small was an old soldier-in-arms and Watson felt compelled to aid a fellow member of his old Regiment.

“Very well, but if it endangers Holmes’ life or any other innocent person I reserve the right to inform him. I shall endeavour not to reveal your secret, but Holmes can see what others can’t so I cannot say that he will not discover your…affliction…without my aid.”

Small seemed satisfied by that and relaxed. Then his expression changed and he laughed lowly.

The bitterness inherent in his laugh caused all the hair to rise on Watson’s neck and arms. A darkness grew about Small and Watson had to grip his courage and hold his nerve in the face of his instincts screaming at him to flee.

As if sensing his dilemma, Small suddenly _stripped off his coat, waistcoat and cravat_ and leant forward, pale face now pained. One hand gripped the top of the couch by Watson’s head, his free hand was rubbing his forehead.

His broad fingers massaged his temples fiercely.

“Can I administer morphine, Small? Come now, what is this nonsense? You are ill, you said so yourself. Tell me what is the matter so I may help as a doctor and a friend.”

“Your bravery and pure heart Watson as always do you credit and shame my appalling behaviour. Forgive me, for the weight of my affliction weighs heavily upon me.”

Alarmed and desperate to help, Watson gripped the back of the couch with one hand too, so he would not fall under Small. He placed his free left hand on Small’s shoulder and moved it up to feel Small’s pulse in his neck going too fast.

“Let me up Small, so I may attend you.”

Small shook his head. “I must be close for you may scream or try to run old friend and I cannot allow that.”

Inhaling sharply, Small said earnestly, “Remember I will not harm you.”

Before Watson could demand an explanation his friend transformed before his very eyes.

_Werewolves do not exist!_

It was a hysterical thought to have under the circumstances, but Watson’s brain had momentarily failed at the sight of his friend _changing into a creature that existed only in folklore._

Lycanthropy could not fit the case and Watson rather wished it would.

Small – for it was he, even past the snout and fur Watson knew his friend – was breathing heavily. Watson could feel the tendons in Small’s neck where his hand was still positioned. Animal musk surrounded Watson as he struggled to come to terms with his friend being a werewolf.

His friend’s muscles bulged obscenely through his torn clothes and Watson had a worrying thought. Glancing down he blushed crimson at the sight of Small’s neither regions protruding through his ripped trousers.

Flustered now more by the state of undress than the change, Watson switched to looking at Small’s hands. Terrible black claws tipped his powerful hands and his feet sported claws on canine-human feet.

“Damnations, werewolves _do_ exist.”

Small growled in amusement and Watson felt a tiny frisson of fear dissipate in his chest.

“Oh my poor fellow. What can I do? Are you in pain?”

Small grinned past a mouth of fangs and spoke in rolling rasp that had Watson summoning all his courage.

“The noise of the city and its denizens and rattle of the hansoms, the roar of the trains, the city’s stench and the touch of the pavement, the clothes and taste overwhelm my senses sometimes.”

“Surely I can administer pain relief of some kind. Let me up Small so I can help.”

Small shook his head, wonder in his voice. “You are a remarkable man Watson. Mr Holmes is fortunate to have you.”

“I’m nothing special, but I hope Holmes’ appreciates my friendship.”

Small grunted, snout looking grim as he did so. “I am sure he does. Now you understand why you can’t tell him my secret?”

“Yes, yes, though you are mistaken if you think Holmes would reveal your affliction. He might even help.”

“We shall see, but for now let me explain.”

Swallowing nervously, Watson let his hand drop and Small moved back, changing and donning his spare clothes from his bag as he began his frightening tale.


End file.
